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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206260">Vanity Rituals</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks'>RedChucks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mighty Boosh (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Vince is having a thinky, more a drabble that went on too long, set some time during Series three, than anything else</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:23:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Vince takes off his make-up like it’s some sort of ritual. He kneels on the stool in front of his vanity, robe pulled tight around his waist, framing his chest in a perfect V."</p><p>Vince is home alone, preparing for bed, thinking thoughts he doesn't want to think because thoughts give him wrinkles and he doesn't want that.<br/>(Minor angst, satisfactory ending)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Vanity Rituals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vince takes off his make-up like it’s some sort of ritual. He kneels on the stool in front of his vanity, robe pulled tight around his waist, framing his chest in a perfect V. It’s something he’s become known for; not the flash of chest that is so often a part of his fashion repertoire. No, not that. It’s the perfection Vince Noir has become famous for. He can recreate any style perfectly, can present any aesthetic perfectly, any emotion or theme displayed through fabric and sequins to... well... perfection. Vince Noir is known for being, in too many ways, perfect.</p><p>And this is a problem for him because Vince knows - oh god he knows! - that he is not perfect. He is so far from perfect. He has a childhood’s worth of memories to attest to his imperfection: from his dad, his teachers, dentists, talent agents... Vince knows he’s dim, that his face isn’t exactly what you’d call classically beautiful, and that he makes mistakes on a terribly regular basis. </p><p>Basically he’s a mess, in every possible way, (it’s a bisexual thing, Mama Zoom often tells him through sprays of toast crumbs. He’s a HOT mess, true, but a mess nonetheless) and the stress of maintaining this weird perfect persona to the cool set of Camden is tiring beyond measure. It’s become a full time job and Vince has never wanted one of those. He doesn’t like the responsibility, or the long hours.</p><p>Partying and dressing up was never supposed to be tiring. It was supposed to be fun, a chance to experience life in a way he’d never had a chance to when on the road with his father, the famous explorer, or in the jungle with this uncle, Bryan. Playing at being perfect had been fun at first. Now he’s grown to hate it, but he doesn’t know how to stop. It’s addictive and makes him anxious and being anxious is rubbish because it gives him wrinkles, but he’s in too deep now and he’s never been good at swimming. He would’ve drowned at least half a dozen times if Howard hadn’t been around to pull him out of various kiddy pools.</p><p>The big problem with the problem he is currently having a problem with is that Howard probably won’t be much help in pulling him out of it. Howard isn’t built for fashion problems, or rather, he is a walking fashion problem and therefore not qualified to help Vince get out of his... problem.</p><p>Vince looks pitifully at his reflection, shifting on his stool a little so his feet don’t go to sleep. He can’t afford to let his mind drift so far when he’s taking off his face and prepping for bed. His skin isn’t getting any younger and dries out a lot quicker than it used to. He just needs to get the last of the eye liner and mascara off and massage in his moisturizer and then he’ll be able to throw himself in to bed. It’s funny how, when he cleans the make-up off, he somehow feels grubbier than before, instead of cleaner. Howard would probably have a fancy word for that but not Vince, his brain is too messy to hold on to fancy words and definitions. It used to be a real bother back in school but he hasn’t really had to worry about it since. Now he wishes, again, that he’d been better at school. Maybe then he’d have more options in his life now, instead of being stuck in a world that he no longer felt comfortable in. </p><p>Vince doesn’t like regrets. Regrets give him wrinkles.</p><p>His last action before bed is to slip the silk tie from around his waist and let his robe fall. It ruins the V, reveals his chest and his not-quite-symmetrical nipples, and the stubborn hair around his belly button, all the way down to his electric blue pants. It shows off his scar from falling asleep on his straighteners as well, which Vince isn’t as proud of as he pretended to be that time out in the cabin with Howard’s weird rapist wilderness friend. He’s never really been proud of the imperfections, even when putting on a punk persona when the whole idea was to be a bit grimy and uneven. </p><p>Vince looks across at his reflection one final time, without make-up, without accessories, and without fancy wrappings. He feels like the definition of imperfect, like if he opened up one Howard’s big dictionaries to the right page he’d find a picture of himself looking just like he does now. He whips his head around, checking for hidden cameras or paparazzi ninjas just in case, but he’s definitely alone. Howard’s out his Jazzercise class’s Christmas party (they have it in November because it’s cheeper and easier to book a venue the month before the actual holiday), and Naboo and Bollo are off-world. He’s more alone than usual, which is actually nice. It’s given him an excuse to eat ice cream without having to focus on how it might look to other people. It’s given him an excuse to relax his stomach instead of having to constantly suck his belly in. It’s given him an excuse to be properly messy and to forget for a while that he’s supposed to be perfect.</p><p>He’ll put the mask back on in the morning of course, avoiding the mirror until after he’s scrubbed himself with ten different products, each more exotic and trendy than the last. Then he’ll sit in front of his vanity (which Howard always jokes is SO aptly named), and he’ll do his best to hide his blotchy skin and the little lines around his eyes, and he’ll tame his fringe which is probably getting a little long and out of fashion only three days after he last got it cut. He’ll go through the ritual again, like a shaman mixing their potions, or a fae putting on a glamour, and he’ll pretend again to be perfect. </p><p>It’s what he does best, after all. He dresses up, plays pretend, fools everyone into thinking he’s perfect. Fools everyone in to liking him. </p><p>Vince blinks at the mirror, tries to catch his reflection doing the same, like always. He’s never quite quick enough. His reflection looks too perfect now, like it’s still pretending. Real Vince, on the other hand, is a mess, and retreats to bed, wishing for... he’s not sure. He thought he had everything that he wanted but now he doesn’t know. He’s not actually sure he wants to find out. He burrows his way under the mass of pillows and blankets and soft toys that he keeps on his bed, wanting the weight and the warmth to protect him like they did when he was a kid, back before he’d needed fancy clothes and a cheeky grin to hide behind. </p><p>That’s what he wants, Vince decides as he rubs his face against his favourite pillow, letting his hair get mussed as he arranges himself for comfort rather than appearance for the first time since dragging himself down the stairs that morning. This is his favourite ritual. This right now - Vince grins sleepily, face mashed in to the pillow, legs tucked up, feet in fluffy, mismatched socks - this is perfection.</p>
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